"If you think that I could be forgiven,
I wish you would."
~Counting Crows, "A Long December"

January 4th

If I tell you that I'm sorry, will you meet me by the rink tonight?

Braving the fierce cold of a new year for something that probably won't happen. Holding his breath when it would probably leave him blue in the face. Fighting for something that he probably won't get back. In an hour, the lights on the tree would go out for the night (it was always an odd wonder when he was here as the lights went out. You always thought that this was a constant, that it would never burn out), leaving him in the dark in more ways than one, if she didn't get here soon. He left the note, the last one in a long line of letters he had written to her, with Rosario while they were out (probably celebrating Stan's return from the West Coast, although she gave off the illusion of a distant marriage), a change of heart last-ditch attempt, before making his way here, through the gaudy neon brightness that draws the tourists. It's the reason he never spent any time around here after work. In all honesty, he hated how crowded Midtown got.

But he would put up with it for her. Always for her. It seemed to be the theme of the season. Forget the images of Santa in red, the reindeer getting ready for flight, elves hard at work and snowmen built as high as you can get them. Replace them with Karen; Karen in a silk red nightie, Karen lacing up her skates and getting ready to glide along the ice, Karen hard at work trying to forget the dire situation of her home life that led her to the comfort of another man's arms, Karen high above the streets at the balcony of her penthouse, looking down on it all with an orange glow at her fingertips from the cigarette dwindling down to ash.

'Tis the season.

The rink was still filled with people, getting their fill before it closed in two hours. It was amazing how much joy you could get from merely skating in circles on a patch of ice. It was her fascination with it that got him out on the ice in the first place—sure he had skated as a kid, and sure he and Grace had hit the rink a couple of times in their early years together but he never had a desire to go on his own. She never explained to him why she loved it so much; it never seemed like her scene and he certainly didn't peg her for the kind of New Yorker to stoop down to a tourist level. But he never questioned it, maybe because he never had time to.

It all happened so fast, and ended just as abruptly. December was a whirlwind month—and technically, it all started before December, at that damn party—but at the same time feeling long and tedious, contradicting itself and leaving him cold and bitter, like it somehow always did.

Except this time, the chill, the bitterness, had made its way into January. And he so desperately wanted to change that. He just wished that it didn't depend on whether or not she would show up tonight.

If it weren't for that crazy little whim that made him walk from his office across the street, past Radio City to the Plaza, they could have gone on their own ways like they always had. But he found himself at Rockefeller Center, found her with tears in her eyes staring down at the rink. And as much as he didn't want to bother her—anyone who associated with her knew the first rule was that she didn't show emotion—she unintentionally tugged on his heartstrings hard enough to pull him to her.

He didn't mean to kiss her. He didn't mean to cross that line, step over that boundary. He didn't mean to take advantage of her when she was down (although she told him over and over again that he didn't take advantage, that he never could). Then again, the entire month was filled with things they didn't mean to do, but were ultimately satisfying in spite of it all.

For the life of him, he could not understand why he fell so fast. Perhaps it was because they had already known each other for a while, there was no awkward "getting to know you" phase they had to conquer first. Perhaps it was because she both attracted and repulsed him at times that the combination became too intoxicating. Perhaps it was because she was different, so different in every way from the ones he normally went for, and more than anything, he wanted to shake his life up a little.

But it was probably because he told himself not to fall, since they knew it would be over in a month anyway. And it's always fun to go against what you've been told to do. Defying the norm. That was something he had picked up from her.

He only had what he knew. He knew the way the neon lights of Radio City made her shine brighter than any diamond she ever craved. He knew that in front of that famous tree, she felt so small and insignificant but she made him feel like the most important man in the world. He knew that it put a smile on his face every time she stopped to take in the smell coming from the honey-roasted cashew vendor on their way to Rockefeller Center, a quirk he had come to love. He knew that when they got on the ice, she held his hand so tight to keep from falling that he could feel her warmth radiating through her palm. He knew that as time went on, she loosened her grip, and he felt the chill come between them more and more. He knew that the last time they were on the ice, she didn't even hold on at all, skating ahead of him at times. He knew that was probably because they knew what was going to come after.

Maybe it was that inevitable ending that made him turn, that made him end it early. Forever plagued by the notion that he swooped in during her moment of weakness, and left her before she fully had a chance to recover. That was it. That was why December felt so damn long. That was why he had to go. Always looking over his shoulder, waiting for someone to call him out, waiting for someone to point a finger at him, tell him he was a bad man. "This isn't what a decent human being would do, don't you know that?" Yes, on some level he did know this, but he chose to ignore the part of his conscience that told him. And it left him worrying inside that someone would expose him for the man he truly was. But it never happened, and his paranoia was enough to drag out the days.

And even though it felt like a long December, and even though he left before he was supposed to, the time wasn't enough. When is it ever enough? You want to be with the one you've fallen for, as long as you can; and once it's over, you're left longing for more. Always longing for more. Always longing for her.

He was reduced to a single question, in his longing.

If I tell you that I'm sorry, will you meet me by the rink tonight? Almost like a bribe, acting as if she wouldn't come to meet him unless there was something in it for her (and such a pointless thing to offer her at that; what was an apology, anyway, but merely words?). With the way he left her that night, minutes before it became a new year, he figured she wouldn't be as willing to meet him as she used to be. How could he simply throw away all that they had come to build in the course of thirty-one days?

Oh, come on. That's a no-brainer. You knew you had to when you went into this, Will. You were foolish to think you would be able to do so without remorse. He had gotten so used to her touch, her smile, her laugh that was meant only for him, the way she lowered her voice at night while she was in bed next to him. And when he walked away from it, he realized that he wouldn't be able to live without it. And he wrote that feeble note, that poor excuse for communication, in the hopes that she would be able to find a drop of forgiveness amidst the sea of betrayal.

"Excuse me?"

The hope that soared through his body when he felt a tap on his shoulder was immediately dashed when he heard the voice. It wasn't Karen. It wasn't anyone he knew. He turned around to find a man hand in hand with his girlfriend, rosy-cheeked from the cold and smiles on their faces that automatically let him know they weren't from the city. Those smiles were "first time at Rockefeller Center" smiles. The man held a camera out in front of him. "Would you mind taking a picture of us in front of the tree?" he asked Will.

He took the camera with a nod. On Christmas Eve, he convinced Karen to take a picture like this with his camera, for their eyes only. "Don't you think that's going to lead to heartbreak?" she had asked. "Some digital reminder of what used to be, what we can't have anymore?" No, he told her with a smile. He merely wanted proof that at one time, they had been civil to each other. It was a joke, and she laughed along, but it was meant to mask the fact that he just wanted a reminder that once, there was love there. Once, there was passion. Once, he would have done anything for her. God…who was he kidding?

It could be fifteen years after the fact, and he'd still do anything for her.

With a click of a button, the strangers' smiling faces were captured on the small digital screen of the camera. He handed the camera back to the man, who mumbled his thanks, before turning back to the rink. Everything about this place was her. The ice, the lights, the feeling he got every time he set foot on the Plaza. It was all entangled with his memories of her, his images of her. In this place, she was inescapable.

So many people, despite the hour growing later. So many people wandering into stores, grabbing a quick bite to eat. So many people standing still, gazing at the wonder of the tree, even though Christmas had passed. So many people gliding along the ice hand in hand. So many people watching from above. He couldn't concentrate. He looked all over the Plaza, trying to get a glimpse of all the faces put before him. From behind, so many women looked like her. The same hair, the same colored coat. But as soon as they turned around, he was only set up for disappointment.

If I tell you that I'm sorry, will you meet me by the rink tonight?

Not much, but it was something, and he hoped she would respond to it. Because he'd been wandering around alone waiting for a second of her being. Waiting for her.

Always for her.